


unknown reaches

by oracular_vernacular



Series: warriors, thee and me [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Captain "Tightwad" Rex, F/M, Light Angst, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lowkey whump, our boys get yeeted into the unknown regions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24856807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oracular_vernacular/pseuds/oracular_vernacular
Summary: Rex doesn't have a crush. Rex doesn't DO crushes. Especially not on aliens, during missions that have gone terribly awry.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Original Female Character(s)
Series: warriors, thee and me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798318
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

He still doesn't know which planet they're on, but getting flung into the Unknown Territories by Seppies crossing the hyperdrive wires is not Captain Rex’s idea of fun. Nor is putting out a distress signal on all frequencies so just about any-damn-body could pick it up. Nor is having no access to anything material to patch up the ship, nor sharing that tiny space for three days with his squad, his General, and his Commander. The kriffing thing isn't made for twelve people, or for long-term habitation at all. They have a few tents but have to sleep in pairs inside them, and Fives snores. 

Skywalker had hoped someone would find them in the first three days, even if it was enemies or pirates or Maker knows who else. At that point Rex almost wishes any of them had; fighting Seppies was much preferable to sitting around, waiting. It's not like 79’s is around the corner for them to get drunk and kill time. Not that he's very good at that, either, but still.

When the General finally sends him, Fives, and Commander Tano out to look for locals, he's actually relieved when before he might’ve been annoyed. Not picking up the SOS means any locals are primitive enough he’d rather not engage, if he's honest. But their rations will run out sooner than later, if nobody finds them. 

Maybe he fears they're stuck out here, but he’ll never admit it. Not to his COs, not to his men, certainly not to himself. 

The speeders glide over the grassy yellow plains easily in spite of the low hills. They can cover decent ground this way, as long as they’re gentle on the fuel cells. 

It takes an hour by speeder to find the first sign of life. An outpost of some kind, a covered platform on tall stilts. A figure is atop it, standing as if to greet them. The three of them slow and pull up to the tower, leaving some space in case of projectile weapons.

“ _Diya!_ ” calls the voice from above, standing close to the lip of the platform to leer down at them. Rex notes the bow in his hands, the arrow that’s knocked into it pointing right at him. _Yep. Not surprised._

“We mean no harm!” Commander Tano calls out. “We’re stranded, our ship’s broken. We came looking for help.” 

“You are not slavers, then?” _Thank the bloody Maker, they speak Basic._

“No. We’re soldiers of the Republic, but we came here by accident. We were sabotaged,” Rex says from beneath his helmet. At this, the guard lowers his weapon slightly. 

“I have heard of your Republic. And its enemies. Do they follow you?”

“We don’t know. So far, they haven’t,” Tano replies. “We were hoping the Republic would find us, but it’s taking them a while.” Now he actually lowers his weapon.

“I will have to escort you into the city.” 

“Fine by us,” Fives says. The guardsman, who had been hidden from the bright sun by the shadow of the platform’s roof, tucks his arrow away and proceeds to climb down the scaffolding of the tower with impressive agility. Rex looks at Fives, who shrugs. 

“We should leave the speeders,” Tano says. “Going slow or adding weight will just use up fuel.” 

“Agreed, sir.” _Clever girl._ The guard beckons them to follow. In the sun, his skin is pale blueish white and hair a vivid, sanguine red. Marks or tattoos, they know not which, adorn his right arm and his face; diamonds around his eyes, a line across one of the ridges along his nose just below the flat slope of his forehead-- his nose has no bridge. Other than that strange profile, coloring, and the points of his ears, he looks very human. Clad in rough-spun cloth and leather, including leather armor on his chest and shoulders. A knife at his side, still sheathed. 

“My people do not often welcome visitors these days,” he says as they walk, and low trees begin to appear on the horizon.

“How many do you get, being this far out in the Unknown Regions?” Tano asks. 

“They may be unknown to _you,_ ” the man chuckles. _Well,_ thinks Rex ruefully, _that makes the lack of response to our signal even more ominous._

“But your people don’t travel in space?” Fives asks.

“No. We have not yet seen the need, nor had the means. Enough have come here as it is.”

“You don’t wanna trade? Make allies in other systems?” The Padiwan is curious, for a moment seeming younger than she usually does. 

“We have attempted to trade, but this did not work out so well. I will let our… _queen_ explain.”

“Queen?” Rex murmurs, stowing the frustration in his voice away quick. Monarchies are always more trouble than they’re worth.

“Perhaps not the right word. But it is the best word I know.” 

“Right.” He’s not convinced, but they walk on. The trees are of a rich wine hue from root to leaf, and more of them loom ahead growing taller and taller. 

Soon the trunks grow whiter, though the leaves stay a myriad of reds; a forest of unusual hue. In dense places like this, Rex always pricks his ears with extra attentiveness. There are animals around, of course, but they seem to keep their distance.

Then he hears the crunch of leaf mold on his right and left, and draws his blasters instinctively.

“Rex!” Tano shouts, scolding, dismayed-- but then the archers emerge from their wooded shadows, arrows trained on the company. He was right. The man guiding them just laughs. 

“Quick, this one!” 

“ _Cre dwyrtheth,_ ” comes another voice from above, this one rich and smooth and full of authority. As arrows lower, a woman drops out of a nearby tree with graceful ease and rises to her feet. The archers are marked similarly to the guard who’d greeted them, but with additional marks; a stripe of red down the chin, marks on the left arm as well as the right.

But the woman who stands before them bears more marks than all the rest, over all her visible skin, wrapped as she is in leather armor. Two knives, one at each hip; gold rings in her ears and one in her nose. And her flat, sloped profile is somehow particularly regal. She levels pale grayish eyes with bright near-white pupils at their escort, asking a question they cannot understand. 

“They say they are stranded here, soldiers of the Republic,” he replies in Basic. The point of her gaze finds them again. Rex knows she sees the jaig eyes on his helmet, notices them.

“We came here to ask for help,” Tano says. “We need food, so we don’t run out before we’re found.” 

“How did you come to be here?” She looks between the two clones. He wouldn’t have said it, but her stare is a little rattling. This is _her_ home, that is clear enough, and she is unequivocally in charge. 

“Our ship’s hyperdrive was sabotaged by Separatists. It flung us out here before it died, so we were forced to land on this planet. It’s not on any of our maps.”

“You are arrived on Kryteka Prime. I am Aven Jod’Thyrdun. I lead my people and our army. We call ourselves the Dwyrt’a. I believe in your own words, you might call me General Aven.”

“Not queen?” pipes up their escort, confused and a little embarrassed. 

“It is perhaps both, after a fashion. There is no word in your language that suits.” She puts a hand on the guard’s shoulder, speaks to him gently in their own tongue. He nods, takes off down the wooded path deeper into the forest. 

“I’m Commander Ahsoka Tano,” says the Jedi. “This is Captain Rex, and ARC Trooper Fives.”

“At your service, General Aven,” Rex says, nodding his head and standing at attention. He can’t help but show respect when meeting another distinguished officer, his army or not-- and not knowing whether she’s royalty in the traditional sense or high-ranking military has him even more in proper form. Fives glances at him and hastily follows suit, apparently not expecting to be following protocol that particular day. 

“Take your ease, gentlemen,” she laughs; it’s a rich sound. “You are nearly as disciplined as my own warriors. But if you are friends as you say, then there is no need to stand on ceremony for the time being. Come with me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

When they return to the ship to bring their news, Aven goes with them. She rides on the back of a strange beast, something like a Loth-wolf and a guarlara mashed together, Rex supposes. No tack or bridle, just a leather thong around its neck and chest. It more than keeps pace with the speeders.

“General Skywalker,” he says as they arrive, “this is General Aven. She’s agreed to help us.” 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, General,” the Jedi replies, smiling even as he raises his brows in that wry way of his. The woman dismounts; Fives would say she had ‘a lot in the cargo hold.’ Or that her ‘ship was bottom heavy.’ Something like that. _Kriff, Rex, pull yourself together, man._

“And you, General.” Her face is serious, sizing them up. “You have been here for three days?” 

“Yes, I’d really hoped _someone_ would’ve come by to scoop us up by now,” he replies with a shake of his shaggy head. “But it seems we’re too far off the charts, and it may take the Republic a while to even pick up our signal.”

“If you have sent out a signal, it is very possible that someone else will find you first.”

“That’s what I told him,” mutters Rex. 

“We figured it was worth the risk,” Skywalker says, frowning at his Captain. 

“Perhaps it may yet be. We cannot supply you with what you need to fix your vessel. What will you do if your enemies find you first?” Aven’s gaze is steady on the General; Rex knows what the answer will be before he even says it. 

“Stand and fight.” 

“How many are there among you?” 

“Twelve in all.”

“You would take on a legion of droids with only that many?” She raises a brow at him, and hers are severe enough with that Dwyrt’a forehead, Rex thinks. But something amused is there, too.

“We’d certainly try, ma’am.” Skywalker is brazen as always; this seems to elicit a small smile in their host.

“I like your style, General Skywalker. But you will need more than that if they come in force. My people will help.”

Rex may or may not feel his heart jump at the idea of witnessing her in battle. _Kriff, Fives is gonna make so much fun of me later. I can hear it now. Captain Tightwad’s got a crush on a warrior queen. Maker save me._

“Not to be rude, ma’am, but the droids are armed with blasters and other weapons more advanced than yours,” the ARC trooper interjects. “I think we should bear the brunt of any attack, as we’re more equipped to fight them and it’s our duty to endanger ourselves. Not yours.”

“We’ve driven your Separatists back before,” she replies, look bordering on sly. _That might explain why she was so easy to convince, at least. Damn Seppies will try and take anything they think they can steal._ But he’s impressed, too. 

“Then we gratefully accept your help, if it comes to that,” Skywalker says with a nod. “In the meantime, we’re running low on rations and have no idea how far away we are from any Republic ship or outpost.”

“You may enter my city, then,” General Aven replies. “As my honored guests.”

They prepare for a very long walk.


	3. Chapter 3

The city of the Dwyrt’a, which bears the same name, is massive-- and laid into the forest itself. High in the white and red trees on platforms and huts. The squad meets other officers of their kind, who seem to play the roles of senators and governors as well. The history of warfare between these people and other native inhabitants (as well as offworlders who had mistaken a lack of technology for an invitation to plunder resources) is clearly rich. Really, it’s more of a nation than a city, tucked away in the understory of a forest of size unknown to the troopers. 

And stars, did they feed them well, too. 

“This is a nice spot, but I’m starting to get weary of bein’ here and not bein’ where we’re supposed to be,” Fives is grumbling on the sixth day. Rex can’t help but agree, but at the same time there’s something grating about the complaining. Maybe it’s the kindness of their hosts, or the sheer immobility of their situation. Maybe it’s the fact that Fives has a tendency to get antsy and then start meddling with things. _Idle hands reap bantha shit,_ he thought; a strange mixture of sayings he’d made up in his head a long time ago. Rex is not one to relish boredom, either, though. It's just that Fives picks less disciplined or productive things to fill his time. 

If he's honest with himself, of course, he doesn’t want any of his men to insult their hosts just as a byproduct of bored agitation. It makes sense a bunch of soldiers who’d been en route from one battle to another would start to itch when their journey came to an abrupt and indefinite halt. Who knows how far out in the Unknown Regions this planet really is? 

“There’s nothing we can do about it, Fives, so kick back,” Kix says to his vod; words Rex wants to say but knows would fall on deaf ears. 

“I’ve _been_ kicked back. I can’t stay back anymore, not without losing my Maker-forsaken mind. There’s gotta be a way to boost the signal, or take a look at the ship, or something--”

“We’ve been over this, Fives,” Rex says finally. “There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

“But Captain--”

“That’s an order, trooper.” He frowns, not liking to give that sort of order but uncertain what to suggest any of them do to occupy their time. What would _he_ do? His eyes wander around the cluster of platforms they are nestled in, a temporary space set up for the whole squad while they're mired on Kryteka Prime. Dwyrt’a sit nearby on their own platforms, on porches or inside the sheltered parts. One of them is polishing a bow and checking its string. 

Suddenly, a glimmer of an idea comes to him. 

“Fives, why don’t you come with me, if you’re so antsy.” He stands and puts on his helmet, but doesn't take much of the rest of his gear.

“Sir!” His vod springs to his feet. “What are we doing? Heading out to the shuttle to check in?” 

“No, but we’re going to stay busy,” the Captain replies with a smirk. He waves Fives to follow, ignoring the disgruntled and confused sounds coming from behind. They make their way up to the platform that he’s taken to calling the Grand Platform, where all the military meetings, governmental meetings, feasts, and other such assemblies take place. He scans for a warrior to talk to, but his eyes fall instead on General Aven. She is talking to someone else, who nods and scurries off. Then her pale eyes sweep over and land on him. 

“General,” he calls, ignoring the little twist of his stomach. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Captain Rex.” There is a woven mat made of the cured young red leaves of the trees in her hands, as though she's going about chores like any other Dwyrt’a. 

“Myself and ARC Trooper Fives have been having trouble sitting still, what with all the war going on in our part of the galaxy,” he begins. “I was wondering if you might help us use our time a bit more wisely and find someone who can teach us how your warriors use their weapons.” 

“Sir?” Fives is confused, and maybe annoyed. 

“Which weapons would you like to learn?” Aven asks with a level smile. 

“Oh, archery would be interesting I think. Don’t you think so, Fives?” Rex throws the other clone a pointed look. 

“Um, yeah. Sure, sounds interesting,” Fives says. It's less than convincing, but Rex decides to let it slide.

“I can bring my armsmaster out to the field and show you myself,” she replies, folding the mat over her arm. “If you’d like to meet me on the Westfold side at marker 6.7, I can be there and ready for you in a very short time.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, you don’t have to waste your time on--”

“It is no waste,” Aven says, holding up her hand to cut the ARC trooper off. “I am happy to do it. You may tell me if it has any bearing at all upon your plasma weapons and their function. I’ll away, and meet you on the forest floor.” And she sails off across the platform, disappearing down below it.

Fives looks almost dismayed, but more just confused. To be fair, Rex is a little confused too, that the most high-ranking official in such a kingdom would make time to train two strangers in bow archery. But, there it is.

“I didn’t even bank on my idea being that interesting,” Rex murmurs.

“What’s so interesting about a weapon that can get wrecked by even the weakest plasma gun?” Fives hisses back. “Are you trying to keep me busy, Captain? Because I’m not sure this is a useful way.” 

“It’s as good as any, Fives. Who knows. You might learn something.”

Down below on the plane some half hour later, Aven and her armsmaster Bylen have set up a range for the two clones sporting cleared lanes in the high yellow grass and bales of brown hay at the end with red circles for them to aim for. Only one circle, of course. Not a range of possibilities; simply a single target that should be hit each shot. Again, Rex shakes his head a little at the relentless discipline of this species. 

Fives is down at the other lane, grumbling with Bylen about his bow being crooked. The other clone hasn’t landed a single shot yet. Then again, if they're going by shots landing inside the circle itself, neither has Rex. 

“You hold it too much like a blaster,” Aven says as she holds a bow of her own out in front of her. “Tilt it this way, and remember to look above the knuckles.” 

“I was bred to hold a blaster, sir,” Rex replied. “It’s a bit difficult not to fall back on.”

“Ah, so you are unlearning as well as learning.” She nods. “That is a challenge of its own kind, yes. How is your sight?”

“My scopes line up everything clean.”

“Are you certain?” 

“My armor was battle-ready before we got here, General.” 

“It is not about whether the scopes work or not, Captain. It is about if they obscure your eyes or not,” she says with a little smile. Rex glances from her to the target inside his helmet, watching the little green arrow follow his gaze. It lights on the circle in the target easily enough… by why can't he align the _shot_ with the scope? He’s silent for a moment, so Aven speaks. “You may try it with your helmet off. They were not designed for such weapons as these, I think.” 

He glances at her again. Something about taking his helmet off in front of her makes him nervous, despite it happening every night in the dining area. But she is not up close, then; the glittering near-white of her irises cannot gaze directly into his own, at least not for long. At this proximity, though, he feels a lingering fear she’ll be able to read his very thoughts like a script running over his face.

But he pushes through that fear, and grips the sides of his bonnet to release its seal and tug it off his head. He bends and places it on the ground before standing back upright and meeting her gaze again. 

“See if that is better, Captain.” There it is, that glitter in her eye. Who knows what it means, he thinks, but at least it always seems positive. So far, at least. 

He turns, knocks an arrow into the bow and nestles its notch against the string. Tugging it back, he feels the resistance of the thing. The strength with which it is made, bound together pieces creating a thing of graceful beautiful and deadly accuracy.

At least, if you're any good at shooting it. 

This time, the arrow lands just outside the circle in the hay bale. 

“That is your closest yet,” Aven says, a more familiar smile on her face now. The smile of a teacher watching a student, a smile Rex was used to bearing himself. 

“Still pretty far off,” he grumbles. 

“Here,” she says, and slings her own bow across her chest so she no longer has to hold it. “Allow me to assist you.” 

“I--” But she's already pressed up against him, the front of her body flush with the back of his, reaching out along his arm to grip the bow in her hand that's so much smaller than his. He tenses, holding the inexplicable goo his insides are becoming together with taut, well-worn muscles.

“Your grip is not centered. Grasp the bow at its very center.”

“But the arrow won’t be centered?”

“The arrow need not be. The archer corrects for less pull this way. Your shots pull down and left. Use your finger to raise the rest of the arrow if you must, and aim shy and right of your target.” She steps away from him, but the warmth in his body doesn’t go anywhere.

So he shoots, and this time his arrow isn't low but it's still left, in the paint of the circle.

 _"Haar’chak!_ ” he swears under his breath. “Sorry, sir, that was rude.”

Of all things, the General laughs. “I know not what it means, so to me it is neither rude nor polite,” she says. “So you may say it whenever you desire to.” 

“Fair enough,” he replies with a bit of a sheepish grin. “Let me try again. I’m used to aiming dead-on.” 

“Then another bow might suit you better.” She's pulling her own bow back off of her torso and handing it over to him. Curiously, he reaches out to take it and hands her the other. This one, he notices, is inlaid with golden filigree, the same gold color as the metal her knives are made of. It has a handle and a notch carved in it. The arrow will rest directly in the center of the bow’s line, and centered above his hand. Taking an arrow from the quiver nearby, he takes aim once more.

And lands dead center in the circle. He can’t help but smile, and when he looks at her he sees Aven is smiling too. 

“See, perhaps it is not the fault of the learner if his tools are not quite suited to him,” she says. Her grin shows some of the sharper teeth she has. 

“That one made more sense from the beginning. More like a blaster, easier for my eyes to line up with the target and know where to release,” he says, mostly thoughts that seem to be tumbling freely out of his mouth. For a moment, he feels like a proper student again. There's relief in it, in just focusing on his own progress.

“That is more suitable for me, as well, of course. That bow is my battle weapon, in particular.” Rex feels a wave of guilt at that moment for touching something so obviously important to such a warrior race. But then he reminds himself-- _she handed it to you._

“It’s an honor to fire it, General,” he tells her. 

“A warrior such as yourself is worthy of such honors,” she replies, with a smile that lands square on his fool heart. _Rex, you’re slipping. Keep it together._ He stands at attention, offering the bow back to her.

“The sun is setting, General. Should we retire to the understory?” There it is. The Captain in him who functions smoothly in all scenarios, the one who can feel without getting run away by the tides of emotions. The one who will not feel wounded whenever their stay here finally ends. Her eyes flicker again, but this time it's different. Curiosity is there, but some other, more subdued emotion comes wrapped within it. Something that holds the capacity to be negative, rather than positive, but has not quite committed either way yet.

“Yes, you are right. Nightfall is dangerous at the forest edge. And it is time to take our evening meal.” She strides with swift, purposeful movements to sling both bows around her chest, pull the quiver, and retrieve the errant arrows Rex has flung to their would-be graves in the hay. He looks over at Fives and Bylen, who are arguing a little less vehemently now, and gives a ghost of a smile. 

Regardless of the erratic tremors of his heart, he has his vod, always.


	4. Chapter 4

Evening, and Skywalker and Tano have taken to a series of high platforms that afford a view of the edge of the forest before the broad yellow plain. Master and Padiwan, meditating. It’s been almost nine days including the first three, and it’s starting to get to Rex. He sits some ways behind his COs on another platform; he knows the two Jedi like it here because they feel like they can watch over the two of his vod stationed out at the ship in the event that their signal is answered. He knows because he likes it for the same reason. That, and it’s quiet, too high up in the canopy for the noise of the main inhabited levels. A patrol route, they’d been told. Though if any patrol it, they give the visitors their privacy. They have never been so well received. 

He hears footsteps behind him, light but not disguised.

“May I sit with you, Captain Rex?” That voice is familiar by now, though he doesn’t often hear it-- he still recognizes it every time. She speaks better Basic than most of them, and her speech has a certain resonance about it. 

_Or maybe you just have a crush, lazerbrain._ But his inner Fives gets expertly ignored.

“Of course, General Aven.” He sits up straighter, shifts a little away as though to make room for her on the spacious platform. She takes her seat in a fluid motion.

“You may call me by my name, you know. I am not _your_ commanding officer.” Now she smiles at him. He feels the ghost of panic in his guts, unsure how to talk with someone so distinguished and so… commanding, without the protocol that keeps him from making a fool of himself. _You’ve gone all soft in the choobies, Captain,_ Fives had teased. _Every time you see her you stand at attention. Not just the spine, either, I’d wager!_

Maybe the protocol has him making a fool of himself, too.

“In that case, better you just call me Rex, then,” he chuckles nervously. “Goes both ways.”

“Alright, Rex.” Her eyes drift out to the two seated, silent figures beyond and a little below them. “These two sit quite often. What do they do?” 

“Well, they’re Jedi. They meditate to uh, convene with the Force, I reckon.” 

“Jedi.” Her eyes glitter. “There are legends of Jedi, out here. Not all are good.”

“Not everyone in the Republic thinks well of them either,” Rex says quietly. “But I know these two are the best of the best, at least when it comes to what we do. Them, and General Kenobi.” 

“You admire them.”

“I do. They’re great leaders.” 

“Are the tales of their magic true?”

Rex shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not the best authority on Jedi, ma’am. I do know that I’ve seen ‘em do things nobody but Jedi can do, though.”

“Curious.” Her eyes flit down his body. “You have not taken off your uniform since arriving here. None of your troopers have.”

“Far as we’re concerned, we’re still on a mission.”

“Is that all?” He realizes, looking at her, that she is wearing plain leather trousers and a vest of some spun, off-white fabric that moves easily with her. Something like her own civvies, maybe. But, there are still two knives at her waist.

“Reckon we’re more at ease wearin’ it when there could be a threat,” he replies. “I think you can understand that.”

The corner of her mouth bends into a little smile. “You are right. Warriors have much in common regardless of where they are from. I am just pleased to have seen your face.”

His stomach drops.

“Er, why’s that?”

“Because,” she begins, gaze holding his, “I like to look a person in the eyes before I decide if we are friend or foe. Your Commander, she had the eyes of a friend. I took a chance on that. Your General, I was unsure at first. But he has turned out to be a friend as well.” For a moment, he falls silent. 

“And me?” _Oh, well, just out with it then, I guess!_

“You have the eyes of a warrior on your helmet. On your face, those of a friend. But I first saw them when they looked upon someone else. When they looked on me… I sensed that you desire to be my equal.” 

He can remember finally taking his helmet off to eat the first meal prepared for them in her house. Talking to his men, Tano-- and then seeing her ascend the platform with General Skywalker, smiling and laughing. He’d only rarely seen the Jedi be such a flirt before. _He’s like that sometimes,_ the Padiwan had said, rolling her eyes. _But Jedi can’t do… that._ Fives had jabbed him in the side with his armored elbow, chuckling. Echo had pretended not to see. But the warrior general, the queen, whatever she was, had caught the Captain’s stare as she walked along the platform...

“I… I reckon that’s true,” he stammers. “I just, I respect your command. How um, loyal your people are to you.” 

“Indeed.” She eyes him coolly, still smiling a little. “Much as your troopers are to you, and to these two. But they,” and she glances at Skywalker and Tano once again, “did not think themselves outranked by me. I think that you should not, either. We are bred warriors, thee and me.” 

He isn’t sure what to say. He _is_ sure that most of what he can think of will sound stupid, but he has to say something eventually.

“Thank you, ma’am. But, so you know, speaking your rank is part of how I show respect, not just a formality.” 

“Aye, but it is also a formality. How then would you show respect in informalities, I wonder?” Her smile is playful, a laugh lurks behind it. Rex feels his face get warm as all manner of thoughts come unbidden to his head. _I would trace every mark on your body like a map to victory. I would kiss every perfect place on it, would protect you, would adore you--_

Stars, does he fall fast. And foolishly, maybe.

“I uh, well. We clones have numbers, but we also take names. I respect my men by calling them their names, not just their numbers. Because that’s who they are, or they wouldn’t bother choosing them.” How he’s managed to say something reasonable is beyond him, but he thanks the Maker for it.

“Then consider that I ask you to call me Aven because I want you to see who I am, as well,” she replies, resting her hand briefly on one of his bent knees. “You will see me in battle as much as you will see my rank, but you may also see me elsewhere.”

He feels like he’s vibrating, calm despite his heartbeat racing. She’s right. A clone is himself both in and out of combat, but sometimes being oneself off the battlefield feels… important, somehow. It means he is more than a number in many ways. 

Rex just isn’t very good at being a civilian, or even being off-duty. _Tightly wound,_ Skywalker had called him. Less now than he had been in the early days, sure, but still. He struggles to let go of it, to step outside his role as a soldier lest he fail in some other position. Probably why he has so few planetside trysts, as Cody and Fives ceaselessly prod him about. Not that the 501st is ever in one place for long, but that only seems to aid some of the other vod in chasing tail where he rarely feels comfortable or compelled to. 

This one’s different. She understands. How often does she get to be a person as well as a soldier-- a _warrior?_

“Alright, Aven. I’ll work on it,” he says after a moment, smiling softly at her. 

He never gets the chance. The next day, the Separatists arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

They can never catch a break. Such a long fight, and it rains the entire day. Storm season is beginning, the locals say, and it will rain for weeks on end. The Dwyrt’a had laid all manner of trap before any battle had even been imminent; traps that played on the weaknesses of droids. They are fierce, impressive. Seeing them against flesh and blood enemies would probably be even more so. 

General Aven is a poet on the battlefield. It turns out she can shoot just fine, once she relieves a droid of its weapon; holding it like a bow, her aim deadly. But she favors a well-aimed javelin to the shoulder or neck joint. She scales three tanks to drop droid poppers on them with ease, and her warriors pick it up just as quickly. Rex finds himself offering her unsolicited cover fire once or twice, just out of fascination, but battle always tears his senses back to his objective pretty quickly. After all, he is a bred soldier.

Then comes a terrible moment, just as they’ve almost beaten the droids back. He turns to watch her take a shot to the middle of her chest. It knocks her body flat on the ground, into the mud. He shoots the droid who’s fired on her without a second thought, screams at his men to cover him before he darts over to her body, jerking off his helmet.

“Aven!” The only time he hasn’t called her by her rank that day. His hands land on her, searching for her wound, terror mounting. Then he realizes she’s _coughing._ Most who have just been shot with a blaster don’t do that. “Kriff, are you alright?” 

She almost laughs at him as she presses a muddy hand to her chest against the leather. There’s a scorchmark, but no wound. 

“This hide,” she pants, “is resistant--”

He takes her face in his hands, presses their foreheads together.

“You’re not allowed to die today. That’s an order,” he growls with relief.

“Giving me orders now, Rex?” He pulls back from her enough to meet her pale eyes, drops of rain falling off her lashes. For a moment their faces hover close, and even closer--

A huge sound comes up from behind, the sound of a ship. Rex turns lightning fast, but it’s Tano who leans out of the hatch, not a droid.

“Rex! They’re overrun! We got our way home!” she calls as the shuttle slows. Big enough for all twelve of them, assuming all twelve made it. He hasn’t seen any white armor on the ground yet. Then he realizes they’re landing to pick him and the rest of the men up. That they are leaving… _now._ He turns back to the warrior queen, and she smiles broadly at the shuttle. 

“You are free, my friends!” There’s a feral delight in her words. “Go back to your Republic, to your home!” 

For a split second, Rex doesn’t want to go. But it is a brief fantasy, as every shred of him remembers his purpose. His loyalty. His men. He stands, and holds out his arm to her. Gripping it with profound strength, she hauls herself back up to standing on his weight, then bends down to pick up his helmet. Commander Tano is already signaling the rest of the troops, and they all peel back towards their getaway ship. The blaster fire in the air is dwindling fast; he hears another tank get fried somewhere ahead of them. 

“It’s been a pleasure serving with you, General Aven,” he says, taking his helmet from her in one hand. Feeling the pang he knows he can’t chase.

“You are quite a warrior, Captain Rex. You and yours will always be welcome here.” Now he sees it, the light in her eyes faltering for a moment. But she turns to smile at Tano. “May your way be free of stormclouds!” 

“Thank you, General!” His Commander’s grin is fierce and familiar. “For everything!” Somewhere inside the ship, Rex hears Skywalker shout something. Which probably means it’s past time to go. It surprises him to feel a hand on his cheek, and he turns to see Aven looking up at him with a strange expression.

“ _Dwyr teleta som, aityr bid twytha,_ ” she says, and he has no idea what it means. But it seems somehow ceremonial and personal at once. 

“ _Ret'urcye mhi,_ _cyar'ika,_ ” he replies, some of the little Mando’a he and his vod still speak. He’s relieved none of them can hear him say it. Then he turns to go. As the shuttle takes off and the hatch slowly shuts behind him, he watches her white and red figure wrapped in a Maker’s gift of blast-resistant armor grow smaller and smaller. But she watches them go as well, raising the golden blade of one of her long knives in the air. The other warriors who witness them do the same, and the last of the droids clatters into the mud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a short thing, and i think at least one more short thing that's the next bit of the story is coming later. maybe two more things. i dunno, i've never written quite in this structure before. i'm just enjoying this exploration of Rex, with an OC of mine whose story runs parallel in its own ways. let me know how you like it if you give it a read ^_^


End file.
